Puppy-Bee
by Bishie95
Summary: One-shot! A slightly typical morning for Sherlock: waking early, brooding, thinking, kisses from his John, some tea, more kisses, some... bedroom activities, and a gift? Valentine's Gift for a friend! Fluff! I will eventually post the complete bedroom scenes! (Title definitely subject to change!)


**A/N: Hello, this is my Valentine's Day gift to my girlfriend ChristopherNicholas22 (she does not have an account on here, but I'll still use her pen name). She adores the series Sherlock, so I am feeding her addiction to the series. I apologize for the lateness of this story, and if Sherlock seems OOC, it is because I have the hardest time getting into that man's mind. He is such a pain! Anyways, I went outside of my comfort zone and attempted to do something a little fluffy and not just downright raunchy... which would have been so much fun! So, enjoy, and tell me if I completely destroyed Sherlock's character.**

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Sherlock stood calmly by the large window in his flat, watching the sun slowly start to rise. The black of night was giving way to the golden-orange hues of first light. It was truly a beautiful sight to see, London bathed in the soft glow of early morning.

The beauty of the morning reminded the raven of a song he loved to play, but alas, his violin had been destroyed in a devastating fight.

He continued to stare out the window, watching his city begin to stir with the rising sun. He stood there, motionless, as the light continued to flood his flat. Finally, the clock he had place on the shelf began to chime, letting him know that it was eight.

He waited for the sound of his flatmate beginning to stir. John would be up soon.

He didn't have to wait long before John came out of the bedroom, his hair disheveled and his striped shirt askew.

"Mo'ning," he yawned, walking towards the other person in the room. He reached out to the taller and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist. He stood on the tips of his toes, and placed a gentle kiss on the raven's lips. "Do you want some tea?"

Sherlock finally decided to move and returned John's embrace. "Yes," he replied, looking down at the doctor.

The shorter smiled, kissed his partner once more, and made his way to the kitchen. He stopped at the doorway and turned to look again at his lover. He loved the way Sherlock looked in his black tee and plaid flannel pants. He smiled before turning into the kitchen to make their tea.

Sherlock pretended not to see the way John looked at him, instead walking to sit in his chair. He smiled to think of how far they had come in only a short year.

He remembered well the day John discovered that he was alive.

He had been elated to see the doctor. The months of separation they had endured forced Sherlock to deeply reflect on his feelings for the shorter man. It had taken every ounce of his self control not to engulf John in a dramatic embrace the moment their eyes had met. He had been able to keep his appearance calm, almost uncaring, and addressed the blond with a simple nod, and a quiet, "John."

It was then that things took a turn for the worst.

John had reached for him as if to hug him, and Sherlock's heart lurched as he considered the possibility of John feeling the same as he did. But one of John's hands fisted in Sherlock's shirt, and he used this as leverage to force his fist farther into the taller man's face. John continued his assault on Sherlock until Lestrade pulled them apart, threatening to arrest the poor doctor if he tried to attack his flatmate again. John apologized to the inspector and then entered his apartment.

It was then that Lestrade informed Sherlock that John had the locks to the entire building changed, and that neither he nor Mrs. Hudson had any intention of letting the genius inside. So Sherlock left, and upon returning the next day hoped to find that John had forgiven him. As he pressed the small button that was the doorbell, he heard the window above him being forced open with a grunt. The next thing he knew, his beloved violin was being hurtled to the hard, damp ground near his feet. He watched as the beautiful, wooden instrument shattered into pieces, sending splinters of wood in all directions.

The window above him shut closed, and the next time he rang the bell, he found every article of clothing he owned tossed out the window; every shirt had the words "Drop Dead" scrawled across it in yellow paint, and his pants had the crotch area cut out.

Sherlock had to admit that John had been quite clever in his choice of words, considering Sherlock's faked death.

He waited a short, while longer before once again pushing the button, and this time, he had to dive into the road to avoid the nightstand that had previously been in his bedroom.

And it was then, after three tries, he finally realized that John wished to be left alone. Sherlock would give him his time, but he refused to wait long.

It was two days later that as John stared at the black screen of his dead computer, something moved to his left and he saw Sherlock force his way into the flat through the window. John stood, knocking his chair over as he rushed at Sherlock, but the taller caught him by the arm.

Sherlock brought their lips together before John could even protest, hoping that the doctor... His doctor would understand his feelings. John responded positively, his eyes slipping closed as he tangled his fingers in the detective's curls. Sherlock could feel the tears that John had been crying and swore then that he would never again be the cause of his pain.

Sherlock ravaged the shorter man and took every opportunity to delve his tongue into John's silken mouth.

It was amazing what one deadly experience and months of separation could do in helping relieve the sexual tension that hung between the two. Both then spent the rest of the day savoring each others company... Among other things.

Sherlock smiled as he remembered their first go-around. John had seemed apprehensive in the beginning, but in the end, he had proven that he possessed greater stamina. Sherlock had whined about his "only, and greatest, defeat" for days, until John appealed to his logical side by pointing out that he was a soldier.

"My body has been conditioned for times of physical exertion," he had said with a gentle smile. "I had to endure years of training to get where I'm at now, and you are almost at par with me without any form of training." He then leaned down and places a chaste kiss on the detective's lips before finishing. "And don't be such a git about the whole thing, okay?"

That sentence had become, sort of a building block for their relationship. Whenever Sherlock did something that the blond found to be unacceptable, he would utter the word "git" under his breath, and the next day, he would find that what had bothered him the previous day was suddenly not an issue. Of course, Sherlock expected a reward for his good behavior, and this usually consisted of John, naked, and trapped in his lovers room for the remainder of the day.

After one such incident, as the two lay cuddled on Sherlock's bed, John had made the comment that Sherlock behaved much like a puppy. He elaborated that he was being forced to train his new pet in what was right and what was wrong, and when Sherlock did something properly, John would then reward his puppy with a treat. Sherlock had strongly rejected the idea of being a lowly animal, but when John began laughing as his own statement's truth, the raven-haired man soon found himself laughing in agreement.

Sherlock's vision came into focus as John returned from the kitchen, carrying two cups of tea. When he saw the smile on Sherlock's face, he couldn't help but smile a bit, too.

"What are you thinking about," John asked, giving his lover a quick kiss before handing him his tea. He went to sit on his chair across from the detective.

Sherlock ignored the doctor's question to ask his own, "Do you still consider me a puppy?"

John let out a small laugh, almost spilling his hot tea all down his front. "Would it bother you if I did?"

"I'm not entirely sure," the detective answered with complete honesty.

John smiled, knowing why his Sherlock would be concerned about the situation. "I suppose that since it has been over a year since we got together, I can now consider you a dog." Sherlock's smile fell minutely before John continued, "Though, even dogs, when they behave, are entitled to a treat.

Sherlock's smile returned full force and he stated, "You know me rather well, my dear John."

"True, but it comes down to knowing that all you ever think about now is sex." John smiled as he finished off the remainder of his drink.

"Not true. Just the other day I solved that case about the homeless man who had been murdering women in alley-ways. I did it in record time, too."

John laughed at Sherlock's defensive tone, "Yes, but do you not remember the reason for solving it so quickly? If memory serves, you said as we left Lestrade's office, "Let's get this over with quickly so we can continue where we left off this morning." And when you solved the case, we most definitely continued in our little... Um, hobby?" John finished, not entirely sure what to call his and Sherlock's favorite pastime.

"Hmm," the detective hummed, sitting forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His chin was setting on his intertwined hands, and a mischievous look glinted in his blue eyes. "I suppose it is a hobby of ours, wouldn't you say so? A rather fantastic hobby."

John shivered at the predatory look in his lover's eyes; the last time he had seen him look like this, Sherlock had just scaled their two-story flat and assaulted John's mouth with his own.

The shorter man cleared his throat, hoping to avoid the molestation he could see quickly approaching. He stood from his chair, choosing to ignore the way Sherlock's eye followed him, and made his way into their now shared bedroom. The detective continued to sit in his chair, his eyes lingering on the location he had lost sight of John. There was a small grunt from the other room and a rustling of paper before John reentered the room carrying a long, thin box wrapped in bright red paper.

The blond was smiling brightly as he said, "I figured now was as good a time as any. And I couldn't wait any longer." He went to stand before the taller man, and placed the box across his lap. "Open it!" he said as he sat down in front of the beautiful blue-eyed man.

Sherlock looked at the elated smile that graced the doctor's lips, and couldn't help the small curving of his own mouth.

"What did you get me, John?" he asked, pulling at the silver bow that held the package together.

John's smile brightened as he watched Sherlock remove all the wrappings from the package. He watched the flickers of emotion that dances across the taller's face as he pulled a beautifully crafted violin from the padded box.

Sherlock looked at the instrument that he held delicately in both hands with surprise. This was an exact replica of his previous violin. He looked up at John, happiness and wonder could be seen swirling in his sky-blue eyes.

"John," he breathed, not trusting himself to properly form words. "How did you-" He couldn't finish.

"You are not the only one who pays attention to detail. You know I always loved listening to you play, and since you've been a year without playing, I figured you would enjoy being able too."

Sherlock continued to stare at John, his eyes losing their emotional glimmer only to be replaced with the questions of a logical man.

"How did you make this?"

The blond laughed, leaning backwards to support his body with his arms. "I didn't make it Sherlock," he chided. "I paid someone to make it, and I told you, I can pay attention to details."

The detective didn't look fooled as he arched an eyebrow at his doctor companion. John ducked his head, a mischievous smirk on his lips.

"Sorry," John said still smiling. "You will have to use your deductive abilities to-"

He never finished his sentence as the taller man's lips descended on his own. It was a full, passionate kiss, but it wasn't lustful. Sherlock's kiss expressed all the emotions he didn't possess words for; he was thanking and displaying his love for John, and the blond knew this. He was used to Sherlock's lack of words, but every touch between the two, whether it be a kiss or a brushing of their hands, held a special meaning and a hidden emotion.

Sherlock was now practically resting between John's legs, having had to lean off of his chair to reach the other man's mouth. John noticed this as the kiss suddenly changed; Sherlock was no longer expressing his emotions. His kiss became demanding, and he forced his tongue into the smaller's mouth. John couldn't help the small moan that escaped him as Sherlock started to move them, their bodies rubbing deliciously against one another. Sherlock was now standing, and John was quick to follow him.

The detective led the doctor to their bedroom, their mouths never breaking contact.

*******  
John was cuddled into his lover's side as the two lay peacefully on their bed. He was absent-mindedly tracing smiley faces on the raven's chest, and his lover stared at the sealing.

This was how the two most enjoyed spending their time. It didn't have to be anything sexual, though it usually was, but simply being as close together as possible was enough for them.

John let out a yawn, halting his artwork, when Sherlock suddenly sat up to look at him. This startled John and he jerked back from the man before scolding, "I was yawning! You ruined my yawn."

Sherlock ignored him, "I know how you did it." When John showed no indication of speaking, only a questioning look, the detective continued, "I know how you replicated my violin. Before you threw it out the window, you had the copy made."

The blond laughed, "Wrong. Perhaps you should try not thinking right after sex, hmm? It seems to make you rather dysfunctional."

Sherlock sighed, lying back down, and resumed staring at the ceiling. John smiled. Only one year ago, if he had said the same thing, Sherlock would have assaulted him with insults, big words, and more than one good reason as to why he was not wrong. Now he was as complacent as a puppy. John found it funny that, though he had earlier called Sherlock a dog, the man was still puppy-like.

John joined the raven in lying on the bed, but instead of his normal spot beside him, he decided to rest himself atop the detective's chest. Sherlock gazed down at him, his eyes warm.

"I didn't throw your instrument out the window," he said quietly. "I threw my own."

"You don't play, John."

The shorter smiled, "I know, I'm rather awful at it. But," he hesitated. "When I thought you were gone, I missed listening to you play. So I bought myself one with the intention of learning."

Sherlock said nothing as he continued to stare at John. The taller man reached out, running his fingers through John's hair as he said, with deep emotion and sorrow, "I am so sorry for making you suffer. I promise you, John, that I will do everything in my power to make sure it doesn't happen again."

John smiled at him, one of those smiles that made the detective's heart beat faster, before he pulled Sherlock's hand from his hair and interlocked their hands.

"I believe you," he kissed his partner's hand. "And I love you," he reached up to gently kiss Sherlock. "My Puppy."

Sherlock pulled back slightly to look at John, a small smile on his lips at the new name. He leaned back down to kiss the doctor, imitating John's gentleness. "I love you too, my Honey Bee."

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**Since Sherlock can be so nice to Mrs. Hudson, wouldn't you think that he could be sweet and nice to his little John? I think so!**

**Review!**


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